


fly away with me

by jowritesthings



Series: Sanders Sides One-Shot Collection [7]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: (or romantic ig if u wanna read it that way), (so does the author for that matter), Alternate Universe - Human, Best Friends, Deceit | Janus Sanders Has Vitiligo, Deceit | Janus Sanders is a Good Friend, Fairy Tale Elements, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Gen, Human Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Human Deceit | Janus Sanders, Human Sides (Sanders Sides), I just love them a lot, M/M, One Shot, Platonic Relationships, Roman Just Wants To Sleep, Sympathetic Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Sympathetic Deceit | Janus Sanders, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, and that's it that's literally it, but other than that this is just 1.7k of best friends roceit babey, i have very strong feelings about roceit, pretty much, remus is mentioned in passing like once
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:55:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25745470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jowritesthings/pseuds/jowritesthings
Summary: Life isn’t a fairytale. Roman knows this, even as he wishes it were.(But perhaps...perhaps life doesn’t have to be like the stories to be magical.)*I own nothing. I am not in any way associated with Thomas Sanders or Sanders Sides. I merely wrote the plot and the story. Do not copy or repost to other websites or other places.
Relationships: Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Deceit | Janus Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Deceit | Janus Sanders
Series: Sanders Sides One-Shot Collection [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1760926
Comments: 4
Kudos: 35





	fly away with me

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely inspired by Leaving London by Steffan Argus, which is also where the title comes from!

“Hey.”

A voice pierces through a groggy Roman’s mind, slicing through what had been a rather nice dream about...he thinks it was sword-fighting. And flying. Yes. Sword-fighting and flying about on the deck of a ship, sword-fighting a hook-handed pirate with a mustache and a cackle that looked and sounded suspiciously similar to that of his brother’s.

Yes, whatever it had been, it was a nice dream. Roman would quite like to get back to it now, thanks.

Letting out a quiet, annoyed little “mmrmph,” Roman rolls over and blindly grabs for one of his spare pillows, snuggling tightly into it.

The voice sighs heavily, growing irritated as it speaks next. “Come on, you great big oaf.” Hands slither across his body and attempt to roll him back over. “Wake _up_ already.”

“Nooo,” Roman protests sleepily, clutching his pillow more tightly to his chest and curling his legs up and in on himself.

The hands briefly disappear from Roman’s torso, and he thinks that maybe whoever it is has finally given up. Good, that means he can go back to sleep. Already he can see the pirate ship and his sword and a strangely masculine Wendy reappearing; already he can hear the cries of the gulls and the tinkling of Tinkerbell; already he can smell and taste sea salt and blood and the pirates’ bitter defeat—

—and then the hands reappears, roughly yanking Roman’s pillow out of his grasp.

“Nooo!” Roman whines, more petulant this time, and he reluctantly rolls over to see who or what is so important that they had to interrupt his beauty sleep.

Roman slowly blinks tacky eyes at the blurry, somewhat familiar figure standing beside his bed. “Who...izzat?” he slurs. “Who’re you? Why—”

“Roman, you _idiot_ ,” the person sighs, sounding annoyed and affectionate all in one—and he _knows_ that voice, Roman _does_ , only one person he knows can manage to properly pull off that tone—but who? The answer dances on the tip of his tongue, just barely escaping him in his drowsy state.

With the help of the mysteriously magnificent stranger, Roman slowly sits up in bed, his sheets clutched tightly in his fists and strewn about him. He relinquishes his grip on them to reach up and rub at bleary brown eyes.

Once he has successfully rubbed most of the sleep out of his eyes, Roman turns and takes a closer look at the stranger who had so rudely awakened him.

And— _oh_.

There, at the side of his bed, clothed in a ridiculously formal black and yellow outfit, as per usual, stands Janus, arms folded across his chest, toes tapping impatiently at the wooden floorboards of Roman’s bedroom.

Somehow, knowing who the person is makes both more and less sense in Roman’s head all at once.

“Jan—Janus?” he mumbles, tilting his head curiously at his best friend. “What—what’re you doing here? Why’d you—”

“Yes, because now is _definitely_ the time to play twenty questions,” Janus groans. His arms uncross—Roman has to tear his eyes away from those beautiful, beautiful arms—and he grasps at Roman’s forearm with one hand. “Come on, Roman, we have to go.”

“Wh—” Roman’s bewildered stare meanders its way up Janus’ very pretty chest and up to his very pretty face once more. “Why?”

“No time to explain,” Janus hisses, pulling him out of bed. “Just—come _on_ already, dammit. Get up and get dressed.”

Roman blinks dumbly, and in his half-asleep, half-awake state, he wordlessly lets Janus stand him up and dress him without a fight.

Janus unbuttons Roman’s pajama shirt and exchanges it for a more appropriate long-sleeved shirt and his beloved ITS hoodie. He wriggles off Roman’s pants, switching them out for jeans as Roman’s head lolls against the soft cotton of his hoodie.

Throughout the process Janus sees Roman’s bare chest and sees his bright cartoony Mickey Mouse boxers, and if Roman were more awake, he would most probably shriek and jump halfway across the room, his already-dark cheeks darkening even more with embarrassment. But Roman is still blissfully half-asleep, and Janus’ deft fingers feel so _nice_ as they gently thread a comb through the kinks in Roman’s curls—so nice that he just might fall back to sleep again.

Janus has him sitting back down at the corner of his bed, jamming socks and shoes onto his feet, when Roman finally snaps out of his trance and into full wakefulness.

“Wait—now hold on a minute, pretty little liar!” Roman whisper-shouts, careful not to get too loud even as he chews Janus out. If his parents were to find the two of them now, it would be very awkward indeed. “What exactly is going on here? And—” he elbows Janus out of his bubble of personal space, “—I can tie my own shoes perfectly fine, thank you very much.”

“You sure you can manage it on your own?” Janus scoffs playfully, raising an eyebrow. “Who’s the one that just had to put your jeans on for you as if you were some big overgrown baby?”

Roman’s cheeks heat up. “I changed your diapers when we were younger,” he reminds, “so we’re even.” He’s already bent down to lace his own shoes up before he realizes that Janus has gotten Roman to do exactly what he wanted. He pops his head up to glare at his younger friend, but he relents and ties his shoes nevertheless.

“Touché.” Janus tosses his hands up in mock-defeat. “I surrender.”

Shoes tied— _much_ better than Janus would be able to do, might he add—Roman sits straight up once more, although he refuses to stand up—one last, pathetic attempt at rebelling, even though he knows that Janus’ bright eyes and rare but manic smile will win him over as they always seem to. “Seriously, what exactly is going on here, lord of the lies?”

Janus pinches his fingers together and brings them up to his lips, miming zipping his lips. He shrugs and flicks his finger as if to to ‘throw away the key’.

“Typical.” Roman’s eyes fall on the open window behind Janus, and his mouth drops open in a little ‘o’. “Oh, by the pharaoh's crook and flail—did you—did you climb through the window?” Horror twists through his voice. “Janus, our apartment is on the fourth floor!”

The grin on Janus’ face is something to be worried about—something to be very, very worried about. “Yeah, I _totally_ climbed all the way up to your window. Mm-hmm.”

After a moment of letting Roman stew in his worry, though, Janus snickers and shakes his head. “Nah. Remus is still up. He let me in on the condition that I get him video of you drooling and snoring in your sleep.”

“Wh—I do not _drool_ in my sleep! Or snore!” Roman huffs. “Preposterous.”

Janus’ lips twist into a thin, sly smirk as he holds up his phone. “Oh, but I’ve got evidence suggesting otherwise,” he croons, tantalizingly holding the phone just out of Roman’s grasp.

Roman nearly falls for the ploy. Nearly.

“You’re just trying to get me up to follow you to...wherever you’re trying to take me,” Roman accuses, stabbing a finger towards his friend.

“Think what you will.” Janus shrugs, nonchalantly bringing a hand up to examine his nails. “It was worth a shot.” He slips his phone back into his back pocket.

“Well, I’m not falling for any more of your tricks,” Roman swears.

Janus raises a singular thin eyebrow. “You sure about that?” His left hand reaches into the pocket of his pants, and he fluidly pulls out a set of shiny new car keys, rattling them gently in Roman’s face. “So then...you don’t want to see what my parents got me for my birthday?”

Roman’s eyes grow wide, and, well, maybe he’ll fall for just one more of those tricks—wait, no! He must remain strong!

“No!” he forces himself to insist. “I—I can’t.”

“Well, why not?”

“...I’m not Remus,” Roman admits quietly, looking down at his sneakers. “I’m not as spontaneous as him, I’m not a daredevil like him. And I mean, what if my parents wake up and find out?”

Janus tiptoes over to Roman, placing nimble fingers on Roman’s chin and lifting his head up to look Roman in the eye. “I don’t want you to be Remus,” he says simply. “I want you to be you, and I want you to trust me when I say you’re going to love where we’re going.”

Janus’ eyes twinkle as his fingers pull away from Roman’s gobsmacked face. “And if your parents catch you...well, doesn’t that make things just a bit more fun?” he purrs. “Just a bit more exciting? Just a bit more... _dangerous_?”

Roman tries to fish around his mind for a coherent response. Tries. Fails. Instead, a noise not unlike a squished dog toy leaks out of his mouth, and he gapes at Janus where he is by the window, silhouetted by moonlight from above and streetlamps from below.

“So.” Janus’ voice is warm as he speaks next. Warm. Inviting. _Home_.

“Do you trust me?”

Roman stares at Janus, standing there at the window, heterochromatic eyes sparkling with the stars of faraway galaxies. He is bathed in the moonlight, the lighter patch of skin on the side of his face a shimmering silver, and the sight is ethereal, _breathtaking_.

Roman stares at Janus, with his hand stretched out invitingly towards where Roman himself sits on the side of his bed.

Sure, life may not be the fairy tales that Roman reads more religiously than he does actual religious texts. Perhaps there isn’t a distressed damsel to rescue, or a prince to sweep him off his feet, or a sword to pull from an anvil, or a frog prince to kiss, or a fairy to sprinkle the power of flight over him. So what?

What does it matter if his life isn’t like the fairy tales he reads, when he can simply create and live out his own?

Janus is getting a tad impatient now. Roman can see it in the patchy hand that props itself against his waist, in the exasperated yet fond smile lingering on his face. “Do you trust me?” he repeats, rolling his eyes—no doubt at the sappy look that is spreading across Roman’s own face.

Roman smiles. Reaches for Janus’ hand. Takes it in his own.

“ _Yes._ ”

Sepia skin holds firm onto multicolored, and matching grins echo across both faces. Janus darts over to the door, pulling Roman towards him.

They fly.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic came about as an attempt to write shorter drabble-ish things. However, I always seem to get too wordy, and what was supposed to be no more than 1k words is now over 1.5k. All the same, I like this one living as it is.
> 
> Come screech at me in the comments or on [Tumblr](https://jowritesthingss.tumblr.com/) or wherever you’d like! Just preferably don’t track me down and screech at me in person, I have social anxiety and I will cry.


End file.
